


The Liars Club

by igrockspock



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blindness, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Missing Moments, No Spoilers, season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6299698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt and Natasha have a lot in common.  They have a flexible relationship with the truth, and people who hang out with them might get charged aiding and abetting a felony.  Oh, and when they were ten, unscrupulous people trained them to fight in a mysterious war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Liars Club

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Daredevil kink meme prompt asking for Matt and Natasha together.

The first time Natasha met Matt Murdock, she almost killed him.

She’d spent three days sitting on the street in a stained hoodie and tattered pants, holding a styrofoam cup and a hand-lettered sign that said ANYTHING HELPS. Pretending to be homeless was hardly her favorite surveillance tactic, and by the time she had her target cornered in a grotty alleyway, she was quite out of sorts.

He was a middle aged businessman and didn’t put up much of a fight. He did scream though -- quite impressively. Natasha slapped a gag over his mouth and murmured, “This is New York. No one’s coming to help you.”

Except that someone did.

The kick to the back of her knee caught her off guard and she tumbled to the ground face-first, which was just embarrassing. She tried to hook her foot around her attacker’s ankle and bring him down, but he danced away. So maybe he wasn’t a concerned bystander. He was a professional -- and not a bad one. When she rolled over, she wasn’t surprised to find herself staring up at a man dressed head-to-toe in black with a black mask over his face.

Bodyguard? she wondered. Or a thug who wanted her target for his own?

Not important right now. 

She reached for the gun tucked into her waistband, and he stomped hard on her other hand.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he growled. “And not the knife on your thigh either.”

“You’re good,” she murmured appreciatively. It had been awhile since she’d had a proper fight. She reached for her ankle holster -- or pretended to, anyway -- and while he was distracted by that, she hooked her other leg around his knee and pulled him to the ground.

He sprang up faster than she’d expected, but she was up by then too, and she kicked him in the solar plexus while he was still off balance. He reeled backward with a surprised grunt, his head thudding hard against the brick wall of the alleyway. Every time Natasha knocked him down, he got back up, which would have been exciting if it hadn’t given her target enough time to slip his bonds.

“ _Enough_ ,” Natasha said. She snatched a piece of rope from a garbage pile and twisted it hard around the man’s throat.

“You have two choices,” she said, bending over to whisper in his ear. “You can tell me who you work for, or you can die gasping in this alleyway. Tap once on the wall for option A or twice for option B.”

Predictably, he chose option A. Somewhat less predictably, he said, “I’m keeping people like him safe from people like you.”

Natasha paused a moment to process that. “You keep child traffickers safe from government agents?” she asked.

“You - you weren’t mugging him,” the man said, his voice suddenly less rough. “This is really awkward.”

“You think?” Natasha asked. She dropped the rope and went looking for her target.

(The man in black looked like he’d made a Zorro outfit from the bargain bin at Wal-Mart. At best, he was confused and going to get himself killed; at worst, he was using vigilantism as a cover for a serious anger management problem. She couldn’t stop thinking about him for _days_.)

***

The second time Natasha met Matt Murdock, she asked him out.

When she pounded on his door, he answered without so much as a knife in his hand. He was brave or foolish -- Natasha wasn’t sure which. Not that those options were mutually exclusive.

“Nice to see you again, Murdock,” Natasha purred, leaning against the doorframe. She’d gotten his name off the mailbox downstairs.

“You’re the - the woman from the alleyway,” he said slowly. His eyes didn’t quite meet hers, and his voice wasn’t so gruff when he wasn’t out fighting crime.

“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls,” she said.

“Only you,” he answered without missing a beat. The mild-mannered persona slid off him like an old skin; now he looked ready to fight, and when he spoke, there was an edge in his voice. But his gaze still didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“How did you know where to find me?” he asked, shifting to block the door. 

Natasha shrugged. “It wasn’t easy, I’ll give you that. Even from a block away, you always knew when I was following you.”

“You weren’t very good at it,” he said. “And that’s not an answer to my question.”

Natasha was _excellent_ at following people, but as soon as she picked up Matt’s trail, he would stand and cock his head. She would go silent and still, but it didn’t matter; he always vanished into the night. It was a real turn-on.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t need to follow _you_ ,” Natasha said. “I just followed the trail of footprints and blood spatter back to your rooftop. You should consider some body armor, by the way.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” he said. “And you’re here why?”

“I’m bored,” Natasha said, “and I feel like catching bad guys.”

(Clint said that following a trail of blood back to someone’s apartment was stalking, and apprehending petty criminals was not a date. Natasha begged to differ.)

***

The third time Natasha saw Matt Murdock, she let on that she knew he was blind.

They were sitting on the edge of the ring at Fogwell’s, breathing hard. Matt was probably going to have a black eye in the morning, but only because he refused to wear a helmet when they sparred. Natasha pulled two bottles of beer out of her gym bag and set them down between them.

“Beer at three o’clock,” she said.

Matt frowned. “You - you know that I’m blind.”

He had a little stutter when he was being himself. Natasha thought it was charming.

“Is being blind a secret?” she asked. 

“No.” He shook his head. “It’s just...most people make a big deal out of it. They don’t think a blind guy can fight.”

Natasha shrugged. “My partner’s deaf. It’s not the disability most people would imagine.” Once upon a time, a long time ago, she had thought it would be very easy to sneak up on a deaf secret agent. He’d almost killed her, but he’d brought her back to SHIELD instead. And so began the rest of her life. She leaned back against the ropes and took a long drink of her beer. “So, by day, you pretend you need the white cane. By night, you avenge the innocent. It’s a nice cover.”

“It’s not like that,” Matt said. “I can hear things, smell things - it makes a picture of the world. But it’s tiring. If I did it all day, I wouldn’t have much leftover for anything else.” He turned toward Natasha. “You know, most people, if they - they know what I can do, they just assume I’m not blind at all. Why not you?”

“Easy,” Natasha said. “You never looked at my boobs.”

“I could be gay,” Matt pointed out, a smile playing around the edge of his lips.

Natasha put down her beer bottle and traced her fingers slowly down Matt’s cheek. Then she let her hand drop to his chest, and she brushed her lips against his. Deep in his throat, Matt made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a growl.

“Nope, definitely not gay,” Natasha said when she pulled away.

Matt leaned in close like he was going to kiss her back, but instead he said, “You know, I don’t kiss women whose names I don’t know.”

“I think you just did,” Natasha said. “And you’re going to do it again.” 

This time, she didn’t settle for a simple brush of the lips. She buried her fingers in Matt’s hair and pulled him down on top of her, arching her back and pressing her breasts against his chest. But he pulled away.

“Nice try,” he said. He was smiling, but it was fake. The rest of his body was tense. “What’s your name?”

“Natalie,” Natasha said. It was the Americanized version of her proper Russian name, so it was almost true.

“That’s a lie.” Matt didn’t look amused anymore.

“How did you know?” Natasha asked, her mouth suddenly dry. She told herself that Matt hadn’t _really_ known. It was just a good guess.

Matt shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He was playing with the hem of her shirt, and she inhaled sharply when his callused fingers brushed against her bare skin. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “You tell me three names, and I’ll tell you which one is right.”

“I’ll do better than that,” Natasha purred. One truth and two lies was her favorite game. 

Matt trailed his thumb just beneath the waistband of her pants, and she arched up into the touch. 

“I’m waiting,” he said.

“My name is Nikolaevna Kapkov. I was born in Brighton Beach, recruited to be a field agent for the CIA. I worked in the KGB till my cover was blown in 2007. Now I bust Russian Mafiya trafficking rings stateside.” 

Matt pushed her shirt up and splayed his hand across her stomach. It was warm and heavy against her skin.

“Next,” he said. His expression was unreadable.

“My name is Nastia Shyrokonis. I was recruited by the American government to spy on Ukraine during the Orange Revolution. I agreed in exchange for visas for my family. I didn’t like the work. Some of the things they asked me to do -- they were wrong. They got people killed. But I didn’t stop. We were poor, and it was the first time in my life I’d ever been sure my family would have food on the table and a roof over their heads every night.”

Matt leaned close to her. His lips were barely even an inch from hers. When she took a breath, her breasts slid against his chest.

“Last one,” he said.

That left the true one, not that Matt -- or anyone else -- would ever pick it. It was far too ridiculous to be true, so she felt safe when she said, “My name is Natasha Romanov. I was born in Leningrad, but I barely remember my childhood. When I was ten, I was taken by a secret organization called Red Room. They took away my personality and my conscience and taught me how to kill. I escaped when I was twenty years old, and I’ve been trying to pay back my debts ever since.”

“That one’s true,” Matt said without hesitation.

Natasha ran.

(Only four people knew her truth: Clint and Laura, Nick Fury, and Maria Hill. Phil had known too, but he didn’t count anymore because he was dead. Matt Murdock did not get to be number five.)

***

The fourth time Natasha saw Matt, she tried to run. He didn’t let her.

She was walking past an alleyway when she heard a groan and the unmistakable crunch of breaking bone. Matt lay on the pavement, spitting blood. His assailant launched herself off a pile of crates, and Natasha did the stupid, self sacrificing thing: she took the hit herself. Her head slammed backward onto the concrete, and she could feel blood trickling down her neck. The woman swung at Natasha’s face. Instinctively, she blocked the punch even though her head was swimming. By then, Matt was back on his feet, and together they wrestled the woman to the ground and knocked her unconscious.

That was when Natasha tried to run, but Matt blocked her with an outstretched arm. She tried to knock him out of the way, but he deflected the blow easily.

“When I was ten --” he started, but Natasha stomped on his instep. He winced but didn’t move. Instead, he took her by the shoulders and said, “Just listen, okay?”

“Ten seconds,” Natasha said. Her breath was coming too fast. It was ridiculous to be this afraid, but she didn’t know how to look at someone who’d learned the whole truth about her by mistake.

Matt flipped up his mask. He took a long breath and started again. “When I was ten, a man came and trained me to be soldier. He didn’t - he didn’t do the things that they made you do, but he wasn’t a good man either. And - and the moment I showed him I cared about him, he left.” He swallowed. “I never told anyone about that, so now we’re even, and you can stop running.”

He let go of Natasha’s shoulders, but she didn’t move. 

“You knew what I told you was true because it happened to you?” she asked. At least then, she could stop worrying that she’d somehow forgotten how to lie properly.

Matt smiled crookedly. “Well, that and I could hear your heartbeat.”

“So you’re basically a human polygraph? That’s it?”

Matt nodded.

“I hate you right now,” Natasha said. 

“That’s a lie,” Matt said, and at that moment, their formerly unconscious prisoner kicked him in the head. 

(She did go home with Matt that night, but only to practice controlling her heartrate while she lied. And maybe because he’d said once that redemption was real, and he believed anyone could change.)

***

Natasha had stopped counting the number of times she’d seen Matt when she wandered into Nelson & Murdock on the pretext of seeking legal representation.

Since the first night she and Matt had spent together, they’d been on two terrible dates, had an apocalyptic fight, and agreed that neither of them knew how to have a healthy relationship. They did, however, know how to have wildly athletic sex, which they did whenever Natasha came to the city. She also made a point of pushing his buttons whenever she could, as payback for how difficult it was to lie to him. Coming to his office was mostly a way to annoy him -- although, given the realities of her life, having a trustworthy defense attorney on retainer was not a terrible idea.

Both missions were a failure. The Nelson & Murdock sign was lying on top of the office trash can at an angle that looked deliberate, and a red-eyed receptionist told her that Mr. Murdock had been hit by a car, Mr. Nelson had taken the day off, and the firm was not currently accepting new clients.

Natasha let herself into Matt’s apartment with the key she’d stolen on her last visit. 

“Matt? It’s Natasha. I brought vodka!” she called from the doorway. “I saw the Nelson & Murdock sign in your office trash can, and I thought you might need a drink.”

There was no answer beyond a faint groan from the living room. When she saw Matt sprawled across the couch covered with long cuts and bloody bandages, she pulled up short.

“ _Chto yebat’? ___” she muttered, and Matt reached toward her.

“You know I don’t understand Russian,” he said. His voice was slow and raspy, like every word took too much effort.

“It means _what the fuck_. As in, what the fuck happened to you, Murdock?” 

Natasha covered the distance between them quickly, but in the end, it wasn’t _her_ Matt wanted -- it was the vodka. He missed the bottle on the first swipe, but managed to grab it from her hand on the second. With a muffled groan, he heaved himself into a half-sitting position so he could take a long drink straight from the bottle.

“Hey, that’s for sharing, you know,” Natasha said, tugging the vodka out of Matt’s hand. She didn’t actually _want_ a drink; she just didn’t want Matt to drink himself to death. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

“A ninja happened,” Matt said, collapsing back onto the couch cushions. “Ninjas are apparently very dangerous.”

“You know, I think I’ve heard that before,” Natasha said. “Can we talk about the body armor thing again?” 

She put the cap back on the vodka bottle and put it behind her. Then she took a sneaky photo of Matt and sent it to Laura, who was a nurse. _On a scale of 1-10, how likely are you to die if you look like this and drink vodka?_ she typed.

Laura sent back a string of punctuation marks and very expressive emojis, followed by a selfie of her extremely disapproving face. Natasha took that to mean she should stop letting Matt drink.

“You know what sounds good to me?” she asked. “Water. A lot of water. Maybe a protein shake if I were feeling adventurous.”

Of course, Matt stole the vodka as soon as she went to the kitchen for water glasses. He took a long drink, then coughed.

“The Nelson & Murdock is sign really in the trash can?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Natasha said quietly. She tugged the vodka bottle out of Matt’s hand and replaced it with the water glass. “Your best friend didn’t care for the secret identity, huh?”

“No, no he did not,” Matt said. He fell back on the couch again, looking defeated.

Natasha sat down on the floor, propping her back against the sofa. It wasn’t comfortable, but it would do. “But Foggy didn’t break the coffee table, did he?” she asked. 

Matt shook his head. “That was someone else. Awhile ago. It’s a long story.”

Natasha laid a hand on Matt’s wrist, trying her very best to avoid all the scrapes and cuts. “Matt, is there someone you need me to take care of? I respect your ethics, but if someone is trying to kill you, I think we should try to kill them right back.” 

Matt pulled his hand back. “It’s not your fight. It’s mine.”

Right. Red in his ledger, or something. She hadn’t figured it out yet. Maybe she never would. Maybe now, when Matt was half-dead and clearly depressed, wasn’t the right time to try.

“Do you think Foggy’s ever coming back?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know, Matt.” She put her hand on his wrist again, and this time, he didn’t pull away. “It’s not easy for people who aren’t in this life to understand what we do. Or how many people we can be.”

Matt sighed. “Have I told you I have this amazing ability to destroy all the good things in my life? It feels like I might have done that last night.”

Natasha awarded herself a swallow of vodka, which was mean, since Matt couldn’t have any. “Well, good thing I’m only fifty percent good,” she said. “You can’t destroy me.”

“You’re more than half good,” Matt said, squeezing her shoulder. 

Natasha rolled her eyes, not that Matt could see it. She’d only meant she was a terrible influence on Matt, but she decided to let him roll with the whole redemption arc if it made him feel better.

“Maybe I’m seventy-five percent good,” she conceded. “But I’m still impervious to your destructive capabilities.”

“You sure about that?” he asked.

Natasha looked up, hoping he was teasing, but his face looked bleak.

“Some of us are clearly drowning in self-pity today,” she said. “Seriously, Matt, what’s the worst thing you think you could do to me?”

“Lie? Return text messages and phone calls inconsistently? Engage in ethically questionable behavior that may result in your being charged with aiding and abetting a violent crime?”

“Oh,” Natasha said boredly. “So you won’t be firing ballistic missiles at me, engaging in an international conspiracy against me, or shooting me in the back?”

For the first time today, Matt smiled. A little bit, anyway.

“I’m more of a cottage industry, really. Those things are beyond my capacity, at least for the present size and scale of my operation.”

“Well, I’ve got news for you, Murdock. Your judgment regarding ninjas is clearly questionable, but otherwise I like you the way you are. So long as you can accept that lying is my hobby, and I answer text messages inconsistently and phone calls not at all, you can’t fuck up your relationship with me.”

She squeezed Matt’s hand, and he squeezed back -- more feebly than she would have liked, but strongly enough to let her know he was alive and planned to stay that way.

“It’s a deal,” he said.

“Excellent. Now you go to sleep, and I’ll stay here to make sure you don’t choke to death on your own vomit,” she said, because that’s what real friends were for.

(They argued occasionally, worried about each other more often than they admitted, and never succeeded in lying to each other for very long. And they stayed friends -- with some very spectacular benefits. So long as no one had been recently beaten by a ninja.)


End file.
